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Friday, 20 February 2015

Falling for the Blades

In the last fortnight I have seen the question posed many times; Could the result at Gillingham be the equivalent of Crewe
away last season? A turning point in this phase of our relationship? Colchester the Tuesday after saw some moments of joy, but there were concerns
that this wasn't a long term, sustainable happiness. The fear that all wasn't
quite right still, the fear that when the big date comes they will fail to turn
up.

After the Colchester victory, charismatic full back and
bearded cult hero John Brayford tweeted "The Blades train is coming".
To which a fellow Blade replied "It's a bit fucking late". It is, but how
many thought we would go to Bristol City and win? I know I didn't and I am
someone who thought the gap between the two teams wasn't that great back on
that first date in August.

Since then Blades fans have been green eyed monsters.
Admiring glances cast towards the "quality" signings made by City and
the clear impact they have had. Meanwhile, we added plenty of depth to the
squad, but with a feeling that the match day eleven wasn't being greatly
enhanced. Chopping and changing week in week out, our love had lost its
identity. The over-arching commitment was there, but there just wasn't the
association with what we saw, the things we hold dear. The commitment felt one way.

But on Valentine’s Day they delivered. The emotions swung
again and even for the most hardened and pessimistic a happy ending to it all seems a
possibility. But then you realise that it's just two dates with destiny and we
need as many as 13 or 14 in the next 18…..Then a night in Nottingham ends well and you can see, or you hear of, the steely determination to make this work.

I want to believe we can replicate last season's run. I
really do. Nearly 40 years of being a Blade reins in that hope. It's a form of
self-preservation. Like a broken relationship that you will never walk away
from. It is all about managing the potential disappointment. You still want and
hope for the best, but you never expect it.

Football fans are the most loyal half of a relationship I can
think of, in any aspect of life. You are in a marriage, often arranged, set upon you by parents or grandparents. Arranged but then secured in that moment when, clutching your Dad or Grandad's hand so tight, you see the floodlights, the expanse of green, and hear the buzz and the noise.Sometimes there is a choice, but those who have a choice tend to choose a partner more in the public eye. Yet for all this unstinting devotion, for all
this commitment and financial expense, for the public disdain and contempt, what
do we get back?

A roller coaster of emotion, varying results, fluctuating
from success to failure knowing that success is relative; limited by finances
and the ever expanding gap between top and the middle, never mind the bottom.

You travel every week to be treated like a criminal, with no
other justification other than your chosen love. You are kettled and
frogmarched, shoved and contained. You are warned and disrespected without
provocation. You are not allowed to respond, to defend yourself, even in the
most polite or respectful terms. Your words twisted, your intentions
deliberately misconstrued. Barriers restrict your movements, young and old, fit
and infirm equally discriminated against. Some fall, no official hand is
offered to pick them up. You pick them up and help them along.

You pay extortionate amounts for just 90 minutes with your
love, but pillars and posts often block your loving gaze. They test your levels
of endurance, through enforced discomfort, but you still sing songs of
devotion, until they become objects of your ire and pent up frustration.

You stand exposed to the wind and rain on open away ends
like Gillingham, as the rain waters down the jug of milk by the burger van and
further dilutes your tea or beer when bought. That is if you can pass the taste
test and distinguish between the varying shades of brown liquids which are
poured into plastic cups that barely shield your hand from the scalding liquid
within.

You gorge on food that's fast, but a fast track to adult
obesity. Carb loading, wallet emptying. Food that has a mark-up that would only
make it appear reasonably priced to a person who lived in Zimbabwe under
Mugabe.

We show our love by wearing our love's favoured colours, but
every year that spectrum is expanded by new away kits, or even third kits
required through conveniently inappropriate away colour selection. Hues chosen
by the colour blind, or a fashionista who knows nothing of your years of
devotion or the history and tradition.

Being a lover of the Blades the potential upsides have been
joyous. Dates in the less enervating cities of Leicester and Cardiff and in the
dated town of Darlington have brought euphoria. Closer to home and visits to
less salubrious parts of our home city somehow left us in rapture and bliss.
But more often than not the big dates in the smoke have seen a failure to
perform, a let-down, with an audience in tow. The pain more heartfelt and public.

The negative memories tarnish and always rise to the
surface. They pin back your hope for a brighter future. They will mess up
somewhere along the line and you will just accept it and return for more.

As a London
Blade tweeted to me this week, “You have to have the rain to have the rainbow”.
But in the back of your head you just see rain. You dare not hope for the sun, because when will it come?

I do hope that we ride the love train and have a date with the Championship in
August, I really do. Just forgive me if I don’t build my hopes up too much for now. I'll take it one week at a time. As much as I look forward, me
and United have got history.

2 comments:

I was first taken to watch SUFC at BDTBL 50 years ago this year. Since then there have been many occasions when I've said 'I'm not wasting my money on that load of **** anymore'. But as soon as we have a run of wins it's like a drug dealer knocking at the door. I know realistically I'll only have a short period of euphoria before the pain kicks in again, but I can't resist making that purchase once more. I'm an exile living in deepest east Kent and each match I go to feels like a reunion with my clan. See you at Wembley once again......